Pikachu magic: how a tiny Pokémon powered Zach Neto and the Angels in June
There’s a new face in the Angels’ dugout, and it isn’t on the 40-man. A small, bright-yellow Pikachu now perches near the camera well, sometimes wrapped in a towel, sometimes facing the field like a stoic sentry. It doesn’t chirp at umpires or slump its shoulders after a strikeout. It just sits there—quiet, constant—and the Angels have been playing their best baseball in weeks.
Shortstop Zach Neto swears the little figurine helps. The point isn’t sorcery; it’s headspace. The sight of Pikachu nudges him to stay loose, have fun, and stop chasing perfection. When your brain stops trying to script the perfect at-bat, your body can actually play. That’s been the vibe in June, and the team has started treating Pikachu as a kind of pocket-sized mascot.
The timing hasn’t gone unnoticed. Since the figurine appeared late last month on the dugout wall, the Angels rolled through a string of moments that swung games and series: Neto belted a go-ahead homer against the A’s on June 21; two days later, Ryan Johnson—who wore a sky-high ERA in May—took a no-hitter into the seventh against the Orioles before settling for a one-hit, eight-strikeout gem; and Logan O’Hoppe capped the very next game with an extra-innings dribbler that somehow found a win. The club ended up taking four straight home series in June. Johnson laughed afterward that he can’t argue with good fortune, whatever form it takes.
Pikachu’s power, of course, is mostly metaphor. Neto leans on a card-collector’s mindset: open a pack, see what you get, move on. Some days you pull a common; other days it’s a Charizard. If the haul’s a dud, tomorrow’s a new rip. Baseball, like collecting, rewards patience, routine and the willingness to turn the page without spiraling.
The origin story of this obsession traces back to a rough patch in early May. Before a home date with the White Sox on May 5, Mike Trout shot Neto a message to arrive early. The two cracked Pokémon packs together and made a playful pact: pull a Charizard, homer that night. They both found the dragon, and both left the yard in a 4-3 win. A hobby turned habit.
From there, the fixation spread beyond the clubhouse chatter to Netflix queues and Nintendo Switch downtime. About two weeks after that White Sox game, while opening a booster box in Sacramento, Neto and Trout uncovered a small Pikachu tucked in the packaging. It even had a tiny halo—until it snapped off. Rather than junk it, the Angels adopted their battered buddy. Flaws and all, it stuck.
The figurine’s presence has become a shorthand for a healthier approach. Neto talks about the relief that comes from resetting instantly—no dwelling on the previous at-bat, no forecasting the next one. Just the task in front of you and the joy of competing. For a 25-year-old who carries South Florida swagger and grew up around an older brother’s carefully guarded card stash, it’s a now-and-next mantra that actually works between the lines.
The team embraced the bit on the road, too. During a June swing through Seattle, the Angels dropped by the brand’s North American headquarters, a wink to the craze that’s overtaken pregame routines and postgame recaps alike. Superstitions are part of baseball’s bloodstream; a thumb-size totem simply gave everyone something to grin about while the wins started stacking.
Manager Kurt Suzuki, a self-described creature of habit, hasn’t exactly rushed to shoo the mascot away. If it settles Neto and stirs good vibes, there’s no reason to mess with it. In a sport obsessed with “feel,” the clubhouse has found one that fits: keep it light, keep it moving, believe the next pack—the next pitch—might be the one.
Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s chemistry. Either way, the Angels’ June revival has a signature image: a yellow figure in the corner of the frame, reminding a young shortstop and his teammates that the game rewards those who play with clear minds and a little bit of childlike wonder. If that’s the magic trick, Pikachu can stay right where he is.
